


A Jewel Fair and Bright

by MephistoMinion



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I'm suuuper interested to know, Let me know who you think she should be with, undecided pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MephistoMinion/pseuds/MephistoMinion
Summary: A dwarf adopted and raised in the Shire is met with new challenges as everything she knows is thrown up in the air when a dwarf king and his company appear in her home, forever changing the peaceful life she has known. (No Parings Yet)





	1. Mizimel

They never knew where she came from. They just found her, poor thing, abandoned on the side of the road on the way back from a walking holiday. She was a beautiful baby on the edge of being a toddler with dark green eyes, thick, curly brown locks down her back and freckles splashed across her cheek. Her giggles were like bells and eyes like gems when they were open, but they knew immediately that she was not like them. She was bigger than the others her age, she was stronger, and her feet were not large and covered in hair. If that wasn't enough to tip them off that she wasn't a Hobbit, then the fine, dark hairs growing along her chin were: she was a dwarfling, no mistakin' it. And yet the Took couple couldn't leave her there, surely to die beside that road; that was the day that a dwarfling was adopted into the Shire. That was the day that Belladona Took got a surprise little sister, and she was absolutely fascinated and delighted by it.

They tried, at first, to see if she had a name. But they couldn't find one anywhere on the dwarf girl's person. After a little while, they referred to her as "dwarfling" because they simply didn't know what to call her. That was until she looked at them with a bright smile and said, "Mizimel." And that was all she said, all the time, in reply to whatever they asked or said to her.

"Mizimel."

So that's what they began to call her. Mizimel Took. And she never knew better. They would dress her nice, brush her hair, talk affectionately. The first hitch they caught was when they tried to shave off the beard that was beginning to grow on her chin and jaw. She had screamed and wailed as if they were physically harming her. At first, the Tooks just left it alone, until finally they tried again, telling her it was alright and that it was natural for women to not have beards. And she calmed down, listening to her new mama and papa with wide eyes, and every time they shaved her after that, there were no troubles. Belladona had always been a true Took, adventurous and fun loving, and took Mizimel under her wing as a little sister, still keeping in touch even when she married off to who she called Baggins. Mizimel didn't know what a Baggins was, and didn't care for him. At this point, Mizimel was around 23, and still like a child. It confused the Hobbits at how slow she was aging, but took it in stride. But there are things that no one can really prepare for. Death being one of them.

The day that her mama died, it was decided that she could not stay with the old Tooks anymore. And Mizimel, now 27, moved in with Belladona who was just about to have a baby. Mizimel had been in a deep despair at having been moved so abruptly with someone she loved so much dying, leaving her behind like everyone seemed to, but when Belladona gave birth to Bilbo something changed in Mizimel. The depression she'd been stuck in was lifted, and it seemed like her life had purpose again. She helped as much as she could in raising him, even if it wasn't much simply because she was still a young dwarf, and was a dutiful aunt.

She remained so even when sickness took her sister and brother in law, helping Bilbo through the loss as much as possible. He was only 28. Mizimel was 55, and still looked like a tween. Still, they looked after each other, him being the new owner of Bag End and her, his "Aunt Mizzie" who he welcomed to stay, even going so far as to teach her things that the Tooks hadn't like what lay beyond the Shire, and the history of Elves and Men. She was fascinated and absorbed it quickly, and the years passed reasonably by for them. She became a barmaid at the age of 70, when she was starting to look more like a woman and less of a girl, earning her keep at Bag End even if Bilbo, aged 43, insisted she didn't need to. She muttered on about honor and pride to him, and deep down he knew that it was something she'd learned from her Dwarvish side, not the Hobbit people who'd raised her.

Eight years later, Mizimel being 78 and Bilbo 51, is when things began to change, and Mizimel met one of her own kind for the very first time.

* * *

Mizimel was humming, her voice clear and as pretty as the bells her laughter was described, as she worked in the garden near the back of the smial, Bilbo smoking calmly on his bench near the front of the house. It was a pleasant morning and they'd just gotten done with second breakfast (though Mizimel didn't eat much at that meal, as her appetite was not as large as a Hobbit's), putting the both of them in a cheerful mood. She was efficient in herbs, especially. She loved the smell of them and being able to work with them soothed her. Mizimel enjoyed being close to the earth. She continued to work on the loamy soil but stopped humming when someone approached. Some Hobbits got upset when they saw her, a dwarf woman who was 4'4" which was well over the tallest Hobbit in the Shire's height, so she'd learned to stick to the shadows and be quiet when a hobbit who was not Bilbo or a Took was nearby. She didn't hear their conversation, just heard the door shut forcefully. When she got up and dusted herself off enough to be presentable, she went to see what had happened but only saw a tall man in a gray cloak, a pointy hat and carrying and a staff walking away. She went back inside Bag End with furrowed brow and frown apparent. Bilbo looked slightly startled and annoyed by something so she carefully asked, "What happened, Bilbo?"

"...nothing. Just wizards, and nasty, foolish business."

"Oh?"

"Yes, asking to share in an adventure. An adventure! Can you imagine?"

But the thought of it stirred something in her and she smiled wryly at him.

"You sent him away? A wizard? Oh Bilbo, you silly little Baggins." She laughed and ruffled his hair, smiling as he scowled and swatted her hand away. They were similar in mind, except that Mizimel, according to a book Bilbo had recently acquired in Bree at her insistence, wasn't even an adult yet, just a young adult. She had much life ahead of her.

"What would you like for dinner, hm?" She laughed at Bilbo's question.

"Bilbo! We just had a meal, and you're already thinking of the next meal?"

"Oh hush, Mizimel! You know how Hobbits work by now, stop being ridiculous."

She shook her head, her brown locks waving at the movement. She loved Bilbo, truly. She'd rarely been without him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to eat alone tonight. I have to work. Apparently one of the other barmaids is away on honeymoon."

"Oh dear, which one?"

"Never you mind, Bilbo. You're entirely too interested in the gossip. Like a true Hobbit, I say." Bilbo sniffed in offense, looking at her with a new eye.

"I never!" She smiled and kissed the top of his curly head. He was so small, compared to her. She still remembered holding him when he was first born, with his pinched, red face and curly hair already growing on his head. Such an ugly little thing, but he'd captured her heart in moments. Mizimel left to her room, getting on her basic work smock, and tying her hair into various braids and ribbons before nodding. She was ready for work. She went to the door, then

"Mizimel, are you off to work, now?"

"Yes, Bilbo." He came around from the kitchen, a spatula in hand from whatever he was cooking. It smelled like fish. Bilbo waved his spatula at her, a serious gleam in his eye.

"Be careful on your way home! Don't know what sort of people might be wandering about tonight."

He was a lovely person, but a ridiculous one. Who else would be wandering out at night, other than hobbits who she had known all her life? Mizimel smiled and nodded as she stood up.

"Yes Bilbo," she waved goodbye to him, "don't you worry." She threw on her cloak and hurried down the road, smiling pleasantly. It was a nice day, overall. An easy day, like all the rest in the Shire.

* * *

Mizimel was tired. Her feet were sore, as always after her shifts, and her arms felt tired from hoisting heavy platters around and moving heavy things around for the owner. She may not have been trained in a harsh dwarven lifestyle, but her dwarven strength had never left her and for that she felt grateful. It was confusing business, living the Hobbit life as a Dwarf, but she felt grateful for any bit of her dwarven side she could keep. She was walking up the hill when she heard loud noises of what had to be a party. She paused. At this time of night? Entirely unusual, especially for this part of the Shire. She kept walking towards her home, yawning slightly in the dark. Then she halted in front of her smial. It was her home? But that couldn't be! Bilbo would never have allowed such a thing. She hurried quickly up the steps, storming through the door. What if Bilbo were in trouble? What if someone had ransacked their house? She growled, anger flaring in her chest like never before.

They'd regret the day they decided to set foot in her home, or lay a hand against her hobbit. She barreled through the door, ready to knock some heads in as she stomped into the house. The commotion was coming from the dining room...but she had no weapons. She paused and turned to see a heavy amount of knives resting on her sister's glory box...which was  _absolutely ruined by mud and scrapes._  Mizimel felt even more anger burn in her.  _They were going to die._  She snatched one of the more menacing looking knives and stormed into view of the dining room, ready to maim whoever crossed her.

"Watch out!" A foreign voice shouted, accompanied by Bilbo's gasp which she knew well. A large bowl of cream spinach, which she had prepared earlier that day so that Bilbo might enjoy some later, came sailing across the room and landed directly on her head, splattering her and masking her vision of the occupants of the room which all went silent at once. She couldn't move. All she felt was her hand trembling with rage as the food dripped down her face and onto her dress. She heard someone quickly get up.

"Mizimel! I'm so sorry." It was Bilbo, handkerchief at the ready, mopping up the sticky green stuff as he removed the bowl which obscured her view. "I had no idea we'd be having guests, Mizimel, I wasn't informed until they arrived."

" _And who are **they**_?" Bilbo made a worried sound, probably knowing just how angry she was. She blinked away some of the cream, then did her best to glare at the unwanted guests, before balking in surprise. Dwarves. They had to be. They were no Hobbits, and certainly not Men. They all peered at her in an equal amount of shock, probably not expecting a dwarf lass to be in the home of a Hobbit.

"Mizimel, I-"

"We're...pleased to meet you." An elderly dwarf had recovered from his surprise the quickest. Her dark green eyes turned to him, confused and scared. Her hand clutched the knife tightly. Who were these dwarves? Why were they here? Even more panic arose as she wondered if they were here because someone had told them about the dwarf of the Shire. "I'm Balin, son of Fundin, at your service." It seemed that he had broken the rest out of their stupor, as the rest began to shout out their names in a panic to introduce themselves.

"I'm Gloin!"

"I'm Kili, at your-"

"Bofur, at-"

"Dwalin-"

Many more names were thrown out but she could not hear it over the din of their combined voices. She flinched and backed away. Bilbo put a protective hand on her back, glaring at them as they frightened his aunt.

"Quiet!" A single booming voice silenced all of them, and her eyes were drawn to a dwarf sitting at the edge of the table. He was made out in furs and dark clothing, with long black hair and piercing blue eyes. Everything about him screamed imposing and regal and she felt even more panicked. Her heart was racing, her hands were clammy, her mind was racing and she couldn't comprehend anything. Wait, was she breathing?

"Mizimel!"

The room began to spin and she felt herself fall over, the world going black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fanfic!! Thanks for stopping by, y'all. I seriously love this fandom and really wanted to give writing for it a try!
> 
> Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> -MephistoMinion out


	2. One Step at a Time

When she began to come to, it was dark, and a fire crackled softly nearby. There was a dull ache across her head and she didn't want to open her eyes. She turned slightly, shuffling whatever she was laying on, and cracked her eyes open just a bit. It seemed she was in her room. She'd recognize that door any day, but it was open. She slowly sat up, brow furrowing. Was she dreaming, then? All that nonsense with the other dwarves and all the damage they'd done to her home? Mizimel swung her legs around, and stretched, reaching a hand up to scratch at her hair. She froze.

Her hair had dried bits of stuff in it. She looked down and saw that she was wearing her work dress, which had stains from…creamed spinach. She wanted to throw up, as she ran to the bathroom directly across the hall to avoid causing a mess all over her room. Not a dream, then. It was all so wrong. What business did they have that had them come to her house? It couldn't have been good, and Bilbo looked so horribly flustered. She sat on the floor, head against the tub as she stared at the wall. She should probably clean up. She was a complete mess, and even though Bilbo had been raised with her he was still a gentleman and hadn't dared touch her more than put her back in her room…which he couldn't have done by himself. She shuddered, and began to fill the tub with hot water so she could – at the very least – wash her hair.

The water felt divine. It soothed her muscles and it felt good to wash all the dried, disgusting gunk out of her hair. It took a long time, but she managed to comb and pick all of it out, and then began the tedious task of washing all of it. Mizimel had a great amount of hair, especially compared to the curly haired hobbits, but she didn't mind. She was proud of it. Dark brown, and simple in its waves, but it was thick and strong, healthy hair. It felt right to have it that way.

She exited the tub, squeezing the water from her hair as best she could, before selecting a towel, a night gown, and a robe from the cupboard near the sink. She was glad Bilbo had filled it while she was gone, because it had been empty before she had left for work earlier. She dried herself quickly, donning the night gown and the robe, before brushing her hair. She looked in the mirror, and her brow furrowed. She had strong features. Thick brown brows set over dark green eyes and wide cheek bones, full lips and a nose that seemed like a tower in comparison to the button noses that hobbits it. But…she remembered the dwarves from before, and their noses were a lot larger than hers. Was hers normal, then? She scrunched her eyes together.

It hurt her head to think. At least they were gone. She let her hair hang down undone as she left the bathroom, stalking quietly to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten during or after work, thinking that supper would be ready for her when she got home (Bilbo had the habit of leaving some for her even if he was deep asleep by the time she got back from her job), but instead was mobbed by a hoard of dwarves.

_Are you not one yourself?_

She sighed and went to the pantry…it was completely, utterly empty. She grunted, finding herself extremely annoyed as she had to go to the second, and then the  _third_ pantry because even the second pantry had been raided. How rude. She got out some supplies for a soup, and then, looking outside, saw that the sun was about to rise. She groaned. She'd been asleep for that long? Well, Bilbo would like his breakfast nice and hot when he woke up. She'd better get supplies for it. She got a large slab of ham out, and some bacon. Mizimel pursed her lips. Some scones and potatoes would go nicely with the meat, and perhaps some fruit as well. She'd make him a nice, big breakfast after that fiasco the night before. She set to work slicing the ham and the bacon, then setting up the scones and dicing up the potatoes and throwing some herbs in to flavor them. She went to her garden, and picked some fresh cherry-tomatoes before stalking back inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mizimel had learned to cook from her mother, and then her sister. And she would occasionally help the cook at the tavern where she worked. She considered herself quite good, as it seemed to satisfy even Bilbo's selective palette.

Mizimel set the scones in the oven, humming softly as she began to slice up some fruits for the morning meal. It was peaceful. The sun was not yet up, the world was just beginning to wake up. She felt refreshed and clean, and very, very glad that no more dwarves would be around to bother her or her nephew. She was just setting the fruits aside, and putting the meat on the griddle when she heard someone walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning, B-"

"Oh!" The voice was familiar, but wasn't at the same time. She jumped in surprise, eyes wide and heart racing as she whirled around to see who had spoken. A young dwarf was staring at her in shock, mouth open slightly as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He had blond hair, and blue eyes. A handsome face with a strong nose…and that was when she realized that she was in nothing but a night gown and a robe. She blushed hard, as did he, and he averted his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I did not know anyone was-"

"My apologies! I did not know you were-"

"Here." They finished at the same time, and she felt her face burning profusely. How indecent! How embarrassing! She mumbled a hurried excuse and practically ran from the kitchen to her room. The dwarf didn't try to stop her, probably relieved that she left. As soon as she shut her bedroom door, she basically collapsed to the ground. Oh, was there no end to her torment? She felt like crying. So much had happened and she didn't know where to start putting everything back together…

 _Some clothes might help, Miz._ Her sister's voice hummed merrily in her mind, and she sighed. She was always the voice of reason in her life, even when she was gone. She went to her closet, only to stop and think again. What was considered decent to them? What was not? She remembered the dark haired dwarf from the night before, and the blond one from a few minutes ago, and her cheeks reddened. Should she dress in one of her nicer gowns? She shook her head; that was ridiculous. She donned a simple, but flattering, purple and green dress, then fled back to the kitchen. Her food must be burning! Dash what that dwarf must think, she had food she needed to prepare!

To her surprise, her food was not - in fact - burning and was instead being made by a…rather rotund dwarf with bright orange hair, and an impressive beard that was woven into one large braid that looped around like a rope. She found it fascinating, stopping to stare for a bit, before she shook herself and timidly walked into the kitchen.

"T…thank you." She said, just loudly enough to be heard. The large dwarf seemed to jump a bit in surprise, before he turned to look at her. He gave her a genuine grin, and bobbed a short bow to her.

"The pleasure is mine, miss. I'm Bombur, at your service." His voice was soft but pleasant, but he seemed to only be comfortable with these words as he turned back around and flipped a few more pieces of bacon. She walked over to him, tilting her head.

"I'm Mizimel Took." She gave a small curtsey. "At you and yours." He gave her another smile, his wide cheeks flushing a bit. Although they were perpetually flushed so she couldn't tell if it was because of her or not. She didn't say much to him as she went to the oven and peeped inside to see if the scones were ready. Almost. But now she wasn't sure if she had made enough. The dwarves obviously hadn't left yet, much to her chagrin, but that meant she had to feed them.

"There's enough." Bombur seemed to read what she was worrying about. "I cut the rest of the ham and bacon, if you don't mind."

"Not at all!" And she found that she meant it. It was hard to stay mad at such a polite and kind dwarf. She found she quite liked him. "I'm glad you did. I thought that I wasn't making enough. It would be terribly rude of me, as a hostess, if I didn't feed my guests until they were content."

"We were quite content last night, Miss Mizimel."

"Please, just Mizimel." She fell silent again, moving to chop up more potatoes and throwing in more spices once she'd chopped up what she felt might be enough.

"Good morning, my lady." That deep voice again. She looked up, alarmed. The dark haired dwarf from last night, the one with the icy blue eyes, stood at the doorway of the kitchen. He looked as regal and intimidating as last night. She gave him a curtsey.

"Good morning." She blushed slightly and turned her eyes down. Those eyes were indeed very hard to meet. "Breakfast should be ready shortly. I'm sorry, I did not know you were still here. I would've had breakfast ready sooner."

"We are very grateful you made it at all, after last night. I am sorry for scaring you, my lady."

"Pray, call me Mizimel." She fidgeted slightly at her skirts, brow furrowed. Was that appropriate to say, to dwarves? She didn't know. He was obviously in charge, too, so was it alright if she requested to be called by her first name?

"Very well." His reply was short, and he nodded to her, before turning to leave. He seemed to pause, however, and turned back around. She straightened her back and looked up again. He seemed to be examining her, as if he didn't quite believe was he was seeing. She knew she was an odd sight, a tall dwarf woman in hobbit garb…not that she felt very tall as this dwarf towered over her. "I am Thorin Oakenshield." There was no 'at your service,' but she got the feeling that was alright. She nodded to him.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Mizimel Took." He then left, and she whirled back around to finish cooking her potatoes, face burning. She was a clumsy lout, she knew it. And awkward besides. She just had to be in these dwarves' minds. Mizimel bit her lip against the burning in her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. She'd always dreamed of meeting other dwarves, other people like her. This was not as she imagined it. Not how she imagined it at all.

* * *

She was introduced to the rest of the dwarves as she laid out the dishes before them on the table. A heaping pile of cooked ham, bacon, steaming potatoes and a mound of fresh scones with jam and whatever else they felt like putting on them, accompanied with bowls of fresh fruit. She curtsied to them, tucking some hair behind her ear as she managed a shy smile at them.

"Good morning, sirs. I'm Mizimel Took," she nodded, "at your service."

Thorin nodded at them, and they seemed to take the cue to not just lob their names at her, as they went slowly around the table, one by one.

"Ori." He was timid, with a wool scarf and mittens.

"Dori." His brother, maybe? He had silver hair that was braided in an impressive style.

"Nori." A star! She smiled at him, knowing she'd remember his name, if only because of his hair.

"Oin!" He was obviously deaf, with the trumpet in his ear and the loud voice almost screaming.

"Gloin." What a  _beard_. It was astoundingly thick and red. She had to try hard not to stare.

"I'm Bofur!" He had a cheerful face and she found herself smiling back at him.

"Bombur."

A dwarf with an axe in his head practically growled out what had to be his name, but she couldn't understand him. They didn't seem to notice, however, and continued on.

"Balin." The old dwarf from before, the one who had introduced himself when she was angry.

"Dwalin." He was also intimidating, but in a different way from Thorin. Dwalin seemed…deadly, because you could take one look at him and know he'd maim you if it came to it. But Thorin was…important, and you knew you could not cross him.

"Kili." Another handsome face, with dark hair and nothing more than a stubble across his cheeks. He was young, probably around her age. Mizimel glanced at the next dwarf and had to try hard not to blush as red as the tomatoes which she had set down next to the meat. It was the blond dwarf from earlier that morning, who had seen in her such a frightful state. He gave her a wry smile, his own cheeks taking on a pinkish hue.

"Fili."

"Thorin."

She knew it wasn't likely that she'd remember all of their names. After all, there were so many of them and she still wasn't so comfortable with them yet. She told them to eat as much as they wanted, before stalking back into the kitchen to catch her breath. So many names, so many faces, she shut her eyes and took deep breaths. It was disorienting, to be sure. And Bilbo wasn't here to talk her down…or to stay with the dwarves while they ate. She bit her lip. She'd have to go and eat with them. It was only polite, as she was the hostess and cook. Mizimel took up as much courage as possible, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she was a Took, daughter of Gerontius Took, sister to the great Belladonna Took, and aunt to the respectable Bilbo Baggins. She could do this. She took a deep breath, before she put on a smile and walked back into the dining room.

 _One foot in front of the other, one step at a time_. Belladonna's voice chimed in her head again, and Mizimel nodded. She could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick addition. I wanted to get the party started. :)  
> As you might see in my tags, I don’t have a decided pairing for my dear Mizzie yet! I'd love to hear what you all think, who you think she'd go together well with.
> 
> Please leave a review if you liked the chapter.
> 
> -MephistoMinion out


	3. Focus!

"Miss Mizimel-"

"Please, just Mizimel." The dwarf with the fluffy eared hat smiled at her, and she gave a shy smile in return. The dwarves were well into their meal, stuffing themselves for the road ahead. But then Bofur had addressed her, and the dwarves were looking at the both of them expectantly.

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how did you end up in the Shire?"

She froze, her hands clenching her dress, her eyes wide. Gandalf seemed interested to hear this, too, as he had never seen her before, which, if she was calling herself Mizimel "Took," was highly unusual. He knew of most if not all of the inhabitants of the Shire. Mizimel felt her face flush and she looked down. She could not tell them. To be abandoned on the side of the road like nothing more than trash...she bit her lip. It was shameful, and it hurt her to think about it. She hadn't had to think about it for a long while and she looked back up, knowing her eyes were watery because they stung like poison ivy against her skin.

"I...if you don't mind, terribly...I'd like to not talk about it." She said softly, face flushing red as the dwarves seemed taken aback by her answer. But a single word, again in the language she couldn't understand, from Thorin silenced them. Bofur looked appropriately chagrined, bowing his head to her.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Mizimel." He was genuinely apologetic. Even if he hadn't been, she didn't think she could be mad at him. She'd be curious as well, finding something like her in such a place like this. Surrounded by hobbits, indeed.

"It's not a problem, Mr. Bofur." She replied, turning her eyes down to her plate again, willing herself to pick up her fork and eat even if her stomach was twisting and turning inside her. She heard a soft sigh, before Bofur replied, "Just Bofur, please." She didn't look up, but smiled knowing that he was doing the same. She was glad they weren't mad at her, though she knew they'd be even more curious. Her ears caught slight footsteps down the hall, and looked up to find Bilbo standing in the door frame, hair tousled and eyebrows drawn downwards.

"Mr. Oakenshield, if you don't mind, I'd like a word after breakfast." Mizimel had never heard Bilbo sound so solemn...almost resigned, if you would. Thorin looked up at him and nodded to him once. Bilbo sniffed and nodded back before making his way over and sitting beside Mizimel. She handed him a plate which she had already loaded with bacon and tomatoes, which she knew was his favorite. He thanked her and nodded when all the dwarves greeted him. The mood picked up again not long after, and soon the food was put almost completely away. Thorin stood up and made his way toward Bilbo's study down the hall, which would be more private for their talk. But before he made it very far, Bilbo turned to Mizimel and said, "Mizimel, come with us, please."

All of the dwarves looked surprised, but didn't have time to react before Mizimel and Bilbo left the room to Bilbo's study. Once the door was closed, Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest and put on his best stern face. It almost made Mizimel laugh, but she knew she shouldn't, so she kept quiet.

"Master Oakenshield, I have thought long and hard about your offer to join your company."

Mizimel stared at Bilbo in shock, unable to keep her mouth closed as she gaped at him. Join him? Where? What was the offer? She then looked at Thorin quizzically, brow furrowed. Thorin looked shocked as well, as though he hadn't thought Bilbo would consider...whatever it was he'd offered.

"And I have decided to come, however..." Bilbo pointed to Mizimel. "She'd have to come along with me."

Thorin's expression turned angry in less than a second, scowling furiously as he crossed his arms over his chest as well. Mizimel shrunk back, shocked at the entirety of what was happening. She didn't even know what was going on. Bilbo, however, was as steely as she'd ever seen him, and he did not shrink away from Thorin. Though it was a miracle because Mizimel felt as though Thorin was going to kill him just with his stare.

"Absolutely not!" Thorin hissed. "I cannot bring her with us, she can be of no use to us."

"I think you're completely wrong." Bilbo said simply. "She can cook, she can clean, she's a prodigious sewer, and I think you'll find that she is stronger than most of the male hobbits put together. And, forgive me for saying, but it's high time she learned about her own people."

This made Thorin pause, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"She needs to learn about _what_?"

Mizimel was about to beg Bilbo not to continue, shame making her face flush and her eyes fill with tears. She did not want them to think less of her, because her parents had abandoned her. She hadn't been bad, she didn't want the dwarves – her people – to think of her in such a way. Nothing more than an abandoned little babe.

"Sir, I'm sure you have noticed, but Mizimel does not act like a dwarf woman-"

"Bilbo!"

Bilbo continued on, "You see, my grandfather was the Thane of the Shire, what you would consider a master or lord over the Shire. He was known as the Old Took. He and his wife were on their way home from a walking holiday, being adventurous even in his aging years. Something stopped them, however, when they heard a noise in the bushes. When the Old Took approached the bushes, he found a young baby, abandoned by her parents on the edge of the Shire."

Thorin's eyes widened as he understood, and he looked at Mizimel with new eyes. She knew she was crying now, as she ducked her head and seemed to shrink against the wall.

"That baby was Mizimel. They raised her as their own, and when they died, she moved into Bag End, with my mother and my father and me. She knows nothing about dwarves except that they age slowly." Bilbo felt that this was enough to say, and it was. There was a heavy silence as Thorin looked between Bilbo and Mizimel. It was as though he didn't know what to say, taking in this information in stunned silence. Mizimel felt like dirt. She felt like the lowest of the low, she just had to be. Abandoned. How pathetic. She was biting her lip so hard it was in danger of bleeding, tears flowing unbidden down her bright red cheeks. Thorin had to say something soon, she felt ready to explode. She heard Thorin begin to walk toward her, and she tensed, expecting some harsh words or to brush past her as though she didn't exist. Instead, he went to her and reached his hand out so she would look up to him. His eyes looked saddened, just slightly, and he was frowning.

"My lady, you can accompany us if you wish. We would be glad to have you...and teach you about your heritage."

Bilbo looked what could only be called triumphant, and Mizimel was blushing even harder as she looked into Thorin's eyes. He had been moved by Bilbo's story, which she hadn't expected. She thought he was like a mountain itself, strong and steely and stubborn as rock. She asked what first popped into her head.

"I...I won't be a bother?"

"We will teach you what we can."

It wasn't the response she was looking for, but she had to be realistic. Mizimel's brow furrowed, before she gave a single nod. Thorin bowed to her slightly.

"We will allow you to prepare to leave before we depart."

Thorin left the room then, regal and graceful as a dwarf could be as he passed from their sight. Mizimel practically collapsed to the ground, her nerves getting the best of her as she looked up at Bilbo.

"Bilbo...where are we going?"

Bilbo gave a hollow, disbelieving laugh.

* * *

 

The pony was itchy. The fur made her nose tingle with both the smell and sensation of it. She knew she was holding the reigns too tightly, her posture was too stiff, she could feel it in her hindquarters which she couldn't quite feel anymore. It had been a very long time since she had ridden a pony. She had ridden one once a long time ago, when Old Took had decided she needed to learn. But she had been kicked off after her third lesson and a tear-filled face had convinced him to quit the lessons. At least she had more experience than Bilbo, who was even worse than she was at riding. That was enough to appease her...for now.

The dwarves were still abuzz about her presence, having just set out from the Shire. It had taken a couple hours to get her some supplies and put all of the Bag End affairs in order (after all, they had to make sure that their home would not get taken while they were away, Bilbo and Mizimel). Kili and Fili were especially excited, riding beside her as soon they had set out, throwing questions at her which they thought she'd be comfortable enough to answer. Well, Kili had, anyhow.

"Mizimel," Kili started again, and she smiled wryly at him, "how old are you?"

"Well...I don't know, really."

"You what?" Her response had caught the attention of another dwarf right behind him, the bald head and the tattoos, and quite frankly scared her to no end. He was so intimidating. She flushed (a common occurrence, you'll find) and shrugged a bit.

"I don't know. I must be around 70 or 80, by now. I'm not sure when I was born..."

"Surely your parents must've told you." The star haired dwarf said, a couple horses ahead. His name was Nori, she remembered. She blushed and frowned at them, shaking her head. Thorin called out to be more quiet, and they were silent for a little while. But Kili couldn't seem to be able to sit still with what she had said. He reached out nudged her leg. She started at the contact and looked up at him with a question gaze. He smiled to appease her and she smiled back. Some of the dwarves looked at them, ready for her to answer the questions they'd posed.

"Honestly, how can you not know when you were born?" Nori asked her quietly.

Her smile fell, and she turned away. Were dwarves normally this insensitive? No, she couldn't say that about them. She didn't know them, and they didn't know her well enough to know not to ask questions like that. Her sister had always taught her to be open-minded, and kind, even when people weren't kind to her. But still, she could not tell them. Not yet. She looked at him again, an apologetic smile on her face, "I'd rather not discuss it, please. I'm around 70 or 80, and that's all I know." Kili nodded to her and turned away, sitting to think about what she had said as they rode. They were well on their way to the edge of the Shire, and she felt her heart race a little. This was it, she couldn't believe it.

She was on an adventure. An actual adventure, with her own people and Bilbo at her side. She never dreamed of this happened, and was still half convinced that she was just dreaming it all up. She, Mizimel Took, was on an adventure...and as she glanced around at her fellow dwarves, she felt herself smile and blush with pride. It felt right to be among them, even if they were still foreign, she felt like she finally fit the shoes that she had, like she was normal. And she loved it.

"We'll set camp up here." Thorin called as the sun hung low on the horizon. They still had not quite passed out of the boundaries of the Shire, though Mizimel had never been this far out from Hobbiton. She was a bit antsy as she looked around at the foreign trees and surroundings. What lurked in those trees? There could be anything, after all there was no one this far out and there could be anything just waiting to chomp their teeth into her. She felt scared, but she felt a bit of defensiveness rise up in her. She could hold if she had to, and she was absolutely certain one of her fellow dwarves would help her as much as possible. There was a cough to her left and she glanced down to find Fili, Kili's older, blonde brother, offering her a hand to help her off her pony. She laughed nervously, remembering that she was still new to this and that her pony was the one with the supplies on it, including the food. She took the hand and careful lifted herself off the beast. And she stumbled as soon as she set both feet on the ground.

"Whoa there!" It was only a miracle that Fili had been there to help her, because if he hadn't been she would've landed face first in the dirt, with both a sore rump and a sore face, covered in dust. She stammered apologies out to him, and he smiled wryly at her telling her it was no problem before she ran off toward Bombur. He wouldn't talk much. They'd cook dinner and that would be the end of it. That way she could forget how clumsy she was for a little while, and get her mind off her embarrassing fall in front of the young dwarf prince...though he was older than her, and quite handsome. She slapped her cheeks, which she knew were turning frightfully red.

"Focus, Mizimel, focus." And so she did, and a marvelous stew was made that night because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My health has been toootally awful. In the hospital twice, and then the holidays just killed me. Thank you to those who kindly left kudos and bookmarked this work.  
> You guys legit give me life, for real. Please comment if you'd like, and let me know who you think might be best for Mizimel to be with. I've seriously not decided.
> 
> Thanks again everyone!  
> -Mephistominion out


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